


Re-Enacting Carnations

by rukisea



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Battling With Inner Demons, Character Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Supernatural Elements, a lot of blood, yeehaw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-05-17 14:22:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5873875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rukisea/pseuds/rukisea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As far back as Arthur could remember, it was Antonio. Antonio was the one who was smiling encouragingly when Arthur woke up from one of his strange black outs. Antonio was the one who gently pried the gun away from his hands, eight years ago. Antonio was the one who stood at the edge of the train station and yelled through cupped hands that he'd write.</p><p>And now it was Antonio too, bleeding out onto the linoleum floor, and all Arthur could do was desperately try to rewind time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mint Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> This originally started as a one shot, and then I ran into an odd prompt on Tumblr that encouraged me to write something lengthier. So after about 2 days of agonizing, here we go to sin.

_"God...Arthur, what have you done?"_

_"He deserved it, he - ...he, to Alfred, so I -"_

_"Arthur."_

_"Oh God...Oh God no please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I never wanted to drag you into this, I never thought...please forgive me, God...no, I..."_

_"He spent his last days thinking about you."_

_"It comes out sometimes, and I don't think you notice."_

_"Why did you throw away all our photos? Even our yearbooks? What the hell?"_

_"...I won. I won, mi corazón...it can't hurt you anymore."_

_"This isn't winning!"_

_"Arthur,_ **get away from me**."

**( I )**

Arthur grunted into the palm of his hand as his train car passed a particularly wonky part of the track. Dismally grey countryside blurred past his window, showing an expanse of muddy fields. It was a shame, really – there were areas that weren’t nearly as miserable, but here he was. Making an overnight trip to an area so remote, it was only accessible via rail.

Not that, Arthur shook out the worn letter in his hand with a slight smile, it wasn’t also exciting. The letter was yellowing at the edges from the times he’d flicked through it over morning coffee. At this point, he felt like he knew the contents by heart.

 

_Look, eyebrow bastard:_ (Direct and to the point, as always.)

_It’s been 6 years and you haven’t even shown your ugly face around here once. What’s going on with that? Is that how you pay back ten years of friendship? Come back home, it’s Antonio’s birthday soon. Bring a gift._

_Lovino._

 

The idea of returning home after so long had admittedly nonplussed Arthur initially. There was a nagging in his chest that seemed to vehemently reject the notion. But, Lovino had sent out a letter after all these years. That had to mean something.

Arthur leaned back in his seat, sagging downwards when his stiff back made a concerning creaking noise. It was actually kind of funny, imagining Lovino sitting with his nose scrunched up in disgruntlement as he wrote out a letter to Arthur - _Arthur,_ of all people. At least he'd had the convenient occasion of writing on behalf of Antonio.

Arthur's slight smile faded away. There it was, the name he'd been avoiding for years.

Green eyes. Goofy smile. That tendency to blow up one cheek while in thought.

Despite how Arthur's childhood memories seemed to fade the more he spent away from his home town, there was one thing he remembered in vivid detail.

And that was Antonio.

He felt the familiar sinking sensation, and the rising bitter taste at the back of his throat. He knew what some would call this exact feeling, but Arthur wasn't personally sure _what_ to call it. It was like what he remembered about his childhood always held a bit of Antonio in it.

It took five years, but eventually Arthur gave up hope. _Maybe the letters aren't reaching his address. Maybe he's busy. Maybe he's replied, but the postal service is slow._ He’d dutifully sent out letters every week, every month, until the empty mailbox became too much. People grew apart, and Arthur understood that well. He'd resigned himself to the thought that, maybe his old best friend had found a life without him, and he stopped sending out letters as well.

Then a year later, came the letter from Lovino.

“West Station, West Station.” A female voice droned over the train’s loudspeakers. Arthur started, gathering his belongings in a panic as the train slid to a smooth stop. He managed to stumble onto the platform right as the doors closed behind him. Missing stops in the boonies was a great way to ensure four more hours of painful train travel, and if unlucky - an overnight stay the next town over. Trains only ran once a day.

“Arthur!”

The blond only had a second to glance around himself, before a blur of brown and red collided into him. There was a moment of horror, as Arthur felt his footing slip and he vaguely wondered if he was about to fall onto the train tracks. Then he’d regained his balance, and was staring into vividly green eyes a few notches darker than his own.

He hesitated.

“A…Antonio?” Arthur breathed out, suddenly very aware of the other man’s proximity. It had been six years. “Is that you?”

“Yes!” Antonio bounded backwards, seeming to burst at the seams with excitement. “You haven’t changed!” He gave Arthur a quick look-over, smile increasing in intensity. Arthur couldn't help but give a small smile back. It was just as he remembered. Antonio, with his never ending energy and warm hugs. Antonio, smiling, as if six years weren't between them and it was the same as before.

Arthur's chest burned. 

He looked away, wondering if he'd always felt so overwhelmed by Antonio's presence. Looked at anywhere but Antonio, till a surly looking Italian with a deep scowl finally caught his eye.

"Yeah, I'm here too." Lovino grumbled, crossing his arms. "Not like I'm the one that told you to come back or anything. Your eyebrows are still dumb."

Arthur rubbed at his eyebrows. "Thanks. For coming to pick me up. And the eyebrow comment." He attempted to straighten out his jacket, hyper aware of how Antonio stood beside him, eyes practically sparkling.

The blond swallowed back a million emotions. "We've got a lot to catch up on," was what he finally managed to mumble out.

Under Arthur's watchful eye, Antonio's jawline seemed to tighten. But the smile remained.

It was Lovino who replied, tone biting: "Yeah. You do."

**( II )**

"Are you okay with using the guest room?" Antonio's voice rang out from upstairs, echoing in the front entrance oddly. Arthur glanced up from gazing blankly at the white walls.

"I, uh...is that where my old room used to be?"

Antonio's head popped out from a doorway, eyebrows furrowed apologetically. "Yeah, I ended up converting it. Gilbert and Francis crash there sometimes when, you know, they're drunk and they lock themselves out. It wouldn't have felt right if I kept it like your room, but other people kept sleeping in there. You know?"

"Yeah, I know." Arthur sat down heavily on the stairs, fatigue overcoming the growing restlessness at the pit of his stomach. "It's been a long time, after all."

Six years, actually.

It was hard to tell why the knot in his chest seemed to become heavier the longer he spent time in this house. It had been six years, but Antonio had been his best friend since Arthur could remember, and what was six years apart in what was soon turning into twenty years of friendship? He'd been excited to see Antonio again - elated, even - yet Arthur couldn't shake this feeling that he was terribly out of place, in this small brick house they had once shared.

"Arthur?" Antonio was there suddenly, crouched a step lower than Arthur and looking up quizzically. "Are you tired?" An idea seemed to strike him. "You don't like the redecorating I did! Is it the new paint? Maybe white is too bland? But it was green before, and Lovino would say it made everything look green-y, and - "

"Mint." Arthur found himself saying. His own voice seemed strangely distant. "The walls were mint, and upstairs used to be a gentle yellow. When I walked out of my room in the morning, you'd be there in the sunrise, and everything would look golden." He brushed the white paint on the wall with his thumb. Looked back at Antonio, and felt his chest constrict. Antonio's smile had faded, leaving behind a strangely empty stare that didn't suit him.

Arthur broke the staring contest first, rising to his feet hastily. "Let's go out for something to eat. I'm starving."

This seemed to break whatever trance Antonio had entered as well, because the other beamed up at him. "There's a new 24/7 breakfast place, how do you feel about that?"

"Sounds perfect. Lead the way."

**(III)**

_The walls used to be this light green. In the evenings, I'd come home and you'd be there with the sunset, and everything would look like a shade plucked from your eyes._

_They're lighter than mine, you know. We both have green eyes, but yours are like freshly cut grass._

_I won't be sending you this letter._

_I'm sorry._


	2. Frames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He felt so out of place in their tiny brick house, and he still wasn't sure why.

_He woke to the sound of tap, tap, tapping._

_Groaning at the offending noise, Arthur cracked open a single eye and peered to his right._

_“Arthur! Are you feeling all right?” Concerned green eyes lit up at him from a table right by the bed – ah yes, a bed, that’s what he was laying on top of – and there was a flurry of motion as the other man zipped up his books and hurried to Arthur’s bedside._

_“Was that you making that horrible tapping noise?” Arthur shimmied himself into an upright position, gingerly feeling a tender spot at the back of his head. What had happened? “I think I might have dreamed about it. There was a tap dancing monster that wanted at me.”_

_A deep throated chuckle, and Antonio – that’s right, this graceful man with the chocolate hair and eyes like cut jade was named Antonio – perched himself at the bottom of the bed, smiling warmly. “I’m sorry, but no tap dancing monsters. Just me, a really tricky chem equation, and my pen.” He mimicked tapping a pen in the air._

_Arthur surveyed the room around himself, drinking in the white sheets and orange glow coming in through a far window. The way the sunset seemed to lap at Antonio’s tanned skin, and lit his eyes with a warm tinge (he was damn enraptured by those eyes, always had been, and was already feeling his ears heating up)._

_Oblivious to Arthur’s sudden embarrassment, Antonio continued on his explanation, expertly twirling his pen between his fingers. “We were going into our pharmacology lecture. You stopped, said my name with this really weird look on your face. Then you just passed out. I brought you here.” He swung out a hand dramatically, indicating towards what Arthur was now beginning to understand was the university’s infirmary. “Same old story, right?”_

_Bushy eyebrows furrowed. “Why, pray, does the back of my head feel like I got bludgeoned with a cricket bat?”_

_Antonio paused sheepishly. Looked away. Coughed into his hand lightly. Cleared his throat. “When you passed out, I…may have caught you safely. And then…”_

_“And then?”_

_“I may have dropped you.”_

_“Are you being real? Seriously?”_

_“Not only my fault! You really surprised me when you just passed out like that! I plead not guilty!” Antonio paused, the sheepish look once again overcoming his face. “Well, I did drop you, so I guess I’m guilty. But maybe like…third degree guilty. That’s what they call it in court, right? When someone did something but it’s not **really** their fault.”_

_Arthur laughed, surprising himself. The fond twitch at the corner of Antonio’s mouth sent a warm rush of courage filtering through Arthur’s stomach, and before he could catch himself, he’d leaned over and pressed his lips against Antonio’s._

_There was a moment of silence, in which Arthur both panicked inwardly and crowed mental victory at once._

_Then Antonio was pulling away, his hands firmly on Arthur’s shoulders, and the moment was over. Guilt rushed into Arthur’s lungs._

_“I…Arthur.” Antonio seemed lost at what to say._

_“No, forget it, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking, it was just…shit.” The back of Arthur’s head throbbed. “You can forget this ever happened.”_

_Antonio stood up, his chair scraping against the floor noisily. He leaned down, and planted a soft kiss against Arthur’s forehead. When Arthur looked up with burning cheeks, Antonio had the gentlest smile. And Arthur wasn’t sure what to make of it._

_“Let’s go home. I’ll make us paella tonight.”_

**(I)**

The 24/7 breakfast place wasn’t nearly as 24/7 as Antonio had originally assumed, and was only just barely opening up when the two men showed up at the front entrance. The tall blond opening up shop glanced over at them, and blew out a long suffering sigh.

“Oh, no. It’s _you_.” A hand went up in the air, twirling melodramatically. “The very last face I wanted to see on a Monday morning.”

“Oh, put a sock in it.” Arthur rolled his eyes, mimicking the other blond’s hand movement. “It’s not like I wanted to see you at 8 am after a horrid night on the world’s most uncomfortable coach ride either. What happened to going travelling after university?”

An indignant sniff. “I’ll let you know, I _did_ go travelling. I went, and I came back, and now I run a breakfast café.” His features softened somewhat. “It has been a long time, Arthur.”

“Six years.” Arthur nodded, inclining his head a little bit lower once. “Francis.”

“You should have wrote! We all thought you’d rolled over and died.” Francis winked at Antonio, tugging open the door of the café for his two patrons. “I am glad to see you. And of course you too, Antonio! You’ve been spending too much time holed up in that little house of yours!”

“Fraaaaannnnciiiiiiiiis, I’m so hungry.” Antonio slipped into the café, looking back at Francis pointedly. “ _So_ hungry. You don’t even understand.”

“Yes, yes. The usual for you, yes?” Francis breezed past, towards the kitchen. “I am sure a burnt coffee will be more than enough for our English friend.”

Arthur sputtered, unable to both cleverly insult Francis while protesting the unfair treatment (and supposed lack of food for his dying stomach). Antonio laughed from beside him, and pulled him into one of the quaint booth seats.

Other customers sauntered in and Francis busied himself in the back, only to reappear some twenty minutes later with (thankfully) two full plates of eggs benedict and other happy morsels. As the café busied up more and more, Antonio and Arthur took it as their cue to leave and after a quick wave at Francis, they ducked out the doors.

It was two blocks down that Arthur slowly realized they hadn’t paid, and looked to Antonio questioningly. Picking up on his friend’s concern, Antonio winked.

“I go to that place too much. I have a tab going.” Antonio nodded sagely. “Breakfast was on me, I guess?”

Arthur grinned back. “You still owe me a few meals from that time you threw me into the river.”

Antonio feigned hurt. “What! Last I remember, you fell into that river. This is…ah, what’s the legal term? Defamation of character? You’d know this kind of stuff better than me.”

A beat.

“Antonio,” Arthur said softly, feeling the discomfort mounting. “I never told you, but uh…when I transferred universities, I didn’t keep pursuing law. I graduated with a liberal arts degree.”

“Well, what’s wrong with that? That sounds pretty cool too!” Antonio nodded approvingly. “Liberal arts! That sounds fancy. It suits you!”

“Rubbish, I’m sure not. You’re a pediatrician now, aren’t you? How’s that going?”

“It’s not, I dropped out.”

Arthur stopped in his tracks. “You _what_?”

Antonio paused in his steps to look back at Arthur quizzically, his smile unfading. “I dropped out! A month after you transferred away.”

“But… _why_? You loved all of it, you…it’s been your dream since we were kids.” A million images flashed into Arthur’s mind. Antonio, declaring during middle school that he wanted to be a _pediatrician_. Antonio during exams, braving a high fever for the entire week. Antonio, volunteering at the local hospital, and – “You can’t just leave that all behind. It was your dream.”

“Bit late.” Antonio laughed out loud. “I’ve been out of university for six years, Arthur. It’s no life to live while regretting past decisions. Do you regret switching to be a liberal arts major?”

 _Yes_ , Arthur thought numbly. _I don’t know why I chose to take a liberal arts major. My heart was always in the justice system. I regret moving away at all._ None of these words came out. Instead, he muttered a gruff, “I shouldn’t have moved away.” _Maybe if we’d gone at it together, you would have stayed motivated. I wouldn’t have given up._

He felt a hard pressure at his arm, and Arthur looked up in alarm. He was met with Antonio’s eyes flashing with an emotion he couldn’t quite place, and the hard set of the other man’s jaw.

They stood there, wordlessly, until finally, Antonio seemed to notice that he was grasping Arthur’s arm quite hard, and he quickly let go. Turned away, and silently continued walking.

After a long moment, Arthur hesitantly followed, while his heart screamed that something was wrong.

**(II)**

The house was too silent, Arthur realized, as he lay in what used to be his old bed. There had always used to be some kind of activity in their small brick house. Antonio, singing in the shower, or downstairs in the kitchen with Lovino (and sometimes Feliciano) making _churros_. Francis and Gilbert, who used to just show up without warning and take over the living room in an impromptu video game frenzy. Sometimes, even Lars and Bella, over to talk to Antonio about this and that (Bella would always peek in on Arthur as well and ask how he was doing), or Ludwig over to ‘supervise’. Even the nights had been active before Arthur moved away, with Antonio making them hot chocolate or rustling his covers with his bedroom door open.

Now, it was just Arthur and Antonio in their little brick house. Antonio didn’t leave his bedroom door open anymore, and Arthur felt it would be strange to leave his open now, as well. So a heavy silence settled over their house (Antonio’s house, Arthur corrected himself. It had always been Antonio’s house, and was even more so now that Arthur had moved out).

Despite his lack of sleep and travel weariness, Arthur found that he couldn’t sleep. He chalked it up to the strange familiarity of his surroundings, and how things were the same – but not. The walls were different, the furniture was arranged differently, all the photos and paintings had been taken down –

Wait.

Arthur stared around himself, puzzled. It was true, there was not a single painting, photo, or even mirror up. It had always been Antonio’s thing, to put up various things on the walls. Photos of their camping trips. Strange sneak shots that Antonio would take of Arthur when Arthur wasn’t expecting it. Little paintings the Vargas brothers would bring over. Hell, at one point, Antonio had even pressed and put up every single flower from the bouquet Arthur got him for his birthday.

That was it. That was what threw Arthur off so much about the house.

It wasn’t how the paint had changed, or how the furniture had moved over here and there.

Arthur creaked open the bedroom door, and continued his mission.

The hallway. The foyer. The kitchen. The halls.

He came to a stop in the living room, hands trembling. He’d expected at least some of their picture frames. The familiar trophies Arthur had kept on the mantle for academic competitions (and had admittedly forgotten to take with him). Maybe the thick black albums and yearbooks that were usually in the far bookshelf. The mirror they’d chosen out together, even.

But no, there was no longer a single indication that Arthur had once lived in this home.

_“Why do you keep putting everything up on the walls? We’re running out of space.”_

_“That’s not true, I’ve put some stuff in frames on the coffee table.”_

_“Oh come on, surely you know what I mean.”_

_“Well, doesn’t it feel much more like home when I do this?” A big smile. “Now, anyone will know who lives here. You, and me!”_

Maybe this was an overreaction, maybe Antonio had gotten over his phase of putting everything up on the walls. He probably had everything stored away in a closet somewhere, because Antonio was much too sentimental to just throw it out.

Arthur sunk into the couch, calming down but still uneasy. Despite how he’d protested initially, he’d been secretly fond of the character of their home, and how important memories lined the hallways.

“I thought you were taking a nap!”

Jumping at the new sound, Arthur guiltily looked up at Antonio, who seemed to have recovered his mood from earlier. He had a basket full of laundry in one hand.

“I…tried, but couldn’t fall asleep.” Arthur pursed his lips, unwilling to show his uneasiness. “So I started looking around.”

Antonio seemed to be looking Arthur up and down, something careful in his gaze that made Arthur increasingly uncomfortable. He slowly set his laundry down, and folded his arms, leaning a shoulder against the empty doorframe. “Did you notice something you didn’t like?”

“No.” Arthur stood. “Do you need help with that?”

Antonio laughed. “What, the laundry? No, no. Thank you!” There was a coolness to his tone that Arthur didn’t like. And when Antonio still didn’t move, from his position leaning against the doorway, Arthur opened his mouth.

“Say, I know it’s a bit odd to ask this, but…didn’t we used to have a lot of frames up? What happened to all of them?”

“I can’t say, they’ve all gone here and there.” Antonio’s expression didn’t change, from that slight frozen smile. “Most of them got lost, I guess.”

Arthur felt himself bristle. “Lost? Lost where? What about our yearbooks? We only had one copy of each year between us. And my trophies? I left them behind.”

Slowly, Antonio raised his eyes to meet Arthur’s. “I wasn’t aware you were so invested in yearbooks and trophies. I thought you found the sentimentality silly?”

“Antonio, please tell me where you’ve put our photos.”

“I threw them out.”

Arthur reeled backwards.

“You threw them out.” He repeated bluntly, feeling hot anger flushing his ears red. “All of it. All of our photos. Our yearbooks. My trophies. The bloody _mirror_ we chose out together.”

“That’s right.”

" _Why_ did you throw away all our photos? Even our _yearbooks_? What the _hell_?!" Arthur could hear his voice rising in volume. It was only noon, he’d only been back in this town for maybe 5 hours, and he was already getting into a fight with Antonio. Just great. "I thought I was coming back _home_ to somewhere I was welcome. Not...not _this_." He slumped against the couch's arm, guilt already gnawing at his feet for raising his voice at Antonio. "I just thought you valued things like that more. You said they were memories."

Footsteps approached, and Arthur glared up at Antonio, who seemed to strangely tower above him from their current positions. They shared another moment of silence, with the hurt bubbling inside of Arthur and Antonio staring down at Arthur with that god be damned incomprehensible expression again, smile completely faded.

Then finally, Antonio spoke:

"They were memories. That's why I threw them all out."

**(III)**

_"Empty walls, empty home. Tell me what I have to do to make it go away. What more do I have to do?" He stared listlessly at the white ceiling, an emotion welling up from somewhere deep inside of him that **wasn't his** but it would soon become his, and that was terrifying. This wasn't him, not all _this _. It wasn't._

_He clutched his rosary between his hands till it became painful, arms shaking from the force. Stifled the urges. Breathed._

_He'd breathe, till it got better._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please pardon me for the way the last two chapters have been vaguely dragging, I wanted to fit in the major event this chapter but I'm afraid it'll have to go into the next. I hope the story is forming into something comprehensible at this point. Also, I feel quite OK with the writing in this guy, and I had a much easier time writing! Hurrah!


	3. Linoleum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drunkenness never suited Arthur.

_“You’ve been having a lot of these black out spells lately.”_

_Arthur looked up from his musty textbook, crinkling his nose in puzzlement. “Is it getting troublesome? Bringing me back and forth to the infirmary.”_

_“No, it’s not that.” Antonio paused. “Maybe you should get it looked at by the doctor. Just in case.”_

_“I did get it looked at by a doctor. You went with me.” A single eyebrow quirked up, puzzlement growing. “They ran tests. Said I was in fine physical health.”_

_“Did that happen?” Antonio’s gaze grew far away, contemplating on this new information. Then he smiled at Arthur apologetically. “Sorry, I’m just getting worried. About you.”_

_Arthur felt his shoulders relaxing as his initial confusion dissipated. Of course, Antonio did tend to forget details like this. It was nice having someone be concerned about him. “You fret too much. I won’t die from passing out a few times.”_

_The two of them fell into silence, Arthur returning his attention to his studying and Antonio continuing to flip through a pile of flashcards. Arthur was aware of Antonio looking up a few times and opening his mouth, as if to say something. But each time he would snap his mouth shut abruptly, and busy himself with his flashcard again._

_Arthur chose not to comment on the strange behaviour._

**(I)**

“I think it might have been my fault.” A swig of amber liquid down his throat, and the familiar burn of alcohol against his tongue. “I didn’t mean to get so riled up. It was childish.”

“So why am I the one stuck with your drunkenness?” Lovino sighed, poking at his own drink. “Just to remind you, I’m barely legal. Look, the bartender’s been giving me suspicious looks since I walked in.”

“And you ought to ignore what the bartender thinks. Fact remains, you’re still legal.” Arthur slammed his tankard down onto the counter, sloshing some of his drink onto his hand. He’d swear up and down he wasn’t drunk. Not off of some cheap ale. “Who else am I supposed to invite out? One of the Beilschmidt brothers? God forbid… _Francis_?”

“You’ve invited Francis out before.” Lovino responded glumly. “I don’t know how to help you with your lovers’ quarrel.”

Arthur gagged on his third tankard of alcohol. “ _What_? It’s not like that. Not like the, uh, lover’s whatnot. That you were talking about.” He nodded, a decisive bob of his head. “I just need _friend_ advice. And last I checked, you are definitely _friends_ with Antonio.”

Lovino threw his hands up into the air, groaning. “It’s your first night back in this fucking town, and you’re legit going to spend the evening getting drunk? And now you’re in _denial_?” He jabbed a finger into Arthur’s arm accusingly, the disapproval emanating from him in waves. “Remember prom? And how Antonio’s date was Bella? You _cried_. And got drunk. And remember how Francis asked Antonio out your first year of university? And you kicked him out of the house? Even though he responded with maybe? _And you still cried_?”

“I still can’t believe – _Francis_ , Lovino. What’s so great about Francis?” Arthur covered his face with his hands, hiccupping. “It’s like Antonio never even _noticed_ – I brought him flowers. I asked him out on dates. And then I moved away, and he _didn’t even write me back once_.” Arthur straightened his back abruptly, looking over at Lovino with wide eyes. “Just to make it clear though, there’s nothing romantic between us.”

“Oh, get over yourself.” Lovino muttered, taking a long gulp of his drink. He was going to need some alcohol tonight. “What, you’re telling me you used to come over to my place crying your eyes out every time Antonio got into something romantic – because you have _friendly feelings_ towards him?”

“I didn’t cry!” Arthur cried out. “It was raining those days! I didn’t have an umbrella!”

“Arthur you are actually so full of shit.” Lovino sighed again, a drawn out sigh that spoke of woe and suffering. “You used to be cuter about it. You weren’t in denial at least.”

At that, Arthur seemed to completely deflate, clonking his chin onto the counter in defeat. “What was I supposed to do? I kissed him, second year of university. And do you know what he did?” Arthur let out a barking laugh. “He pulled away, and offered to make paella.”

“That’s some shit,” agreed Lovino. “Sucks you’ve been in love with an idiot since elementary school.”

“I ought to have just not decided to go to a university in the city. I bet Antonio resents me just upping and leaving, and that’s why he never wrote me.” Arthur paused in his rant, suddenly aware of the odd look Lovino was giving him. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s no way Antonio resents you for moving away. I mean, you didn’t even want to.” Lovino said slowly.

“Well I had my doubts I suppose, but – “

“You two even had a huge fight about it.”

Arthur paused again. “We did?” He wracked his brain. Him and Antonio? Fighting? It was incomprehensible. The closest they’d ever gotten to a fight was…well, that afternoon.

“Yeah, you were screaming at him and he was just yelling back.” Lovino scratched the side of his head. “Then you guys wouldn’t talk for another week after. What a nightmare.”

“You don’t happen to remember the cause of the fight, do you?”

“Sure I do. Antonio started saying that you had to move out, and he was being real fucking stubborn about it. And you were super against it.” Lovino shrugged, finishing off his drink. “I’d be fucking pissed too. He brought it up out of nowhere. Over dinner.” A smirk cracked out over Lovino’s face. “You threw your plate at him, food and all. I can’t believe you don’t remember.”

Arthur stared at Lovino, then ordered another drink.

**(II)**

"Antonio!" Lovino hissed at the wooden door, praying to God that the chocolate haired man was still awake. It was probably past midnight, and though that wasn't particularly late by Lovino's standards, years of experience had taught him that Antonio liked to be tucked in by ten. Just as he was beginning to lose hope, the door swung open.

"Lovi?" Antonio's voice muffled behind a yawn. "What are you doing here so late?"

"Don't ask me _what I'm doing here_ , damnit." Lovino growled, gesturing angrily at the limp figure hanging off of his shoulder. "I came to return _him_. And fuck it if I ever go drinking with him ever again." 

The mess of wheat hair and black overcoat groaned from his position leaning against Lovino. "If I ever run into Braginsky ever again, I'm going to sock him a good one." Hic. "I'm going to _sooooOOOOOOooooc_ _him!_ " 

Antonio eyed the two at his doorstep sympathetically, reaching out to take over Lovino's burden. "It sounds like you guys ran into Ivan." He let out a small _oof_ as Arthur's full weight fell into his arms. 

"He just watched us all evening from a corner in the pub. Fucking creepy." Lovino shook his head, shivering against the autumn wind. Antonio noticed immediately, and struggled to reach for the coat rack behind him. 

"Lovi, it's cold. Here, take this." He dumped a green-ish coat into Lovino's sore arms, grinning. "I'll trade you this for Arthur. Would you like to come in?" 

Lovino shook his head, draping the coat around himself. It was a bit big on him, the shoulders baggy and the sleeves a little too long. But it was warm, and had the familiar scent of earth and cinnamon that he'd grown up with. "I'm good, I should head home. Feliciano's probably worried." He scuffed the ground with his foot. "Look, bastard...I dunno if you're still pissed about that fight with Arthur or whatever, but don't be too hard on him. You've been weird lately." He cleared his throat. "Not like I'm worried. But Francis...Francis thought you might cheer up if Arthur's around." 

Antonio smiled, shifting Arthur with one arm while reaching out to ruffle Lovino's hair with the other. "Is that why you sent him that letter?" 

The shorter man glared to his right and slowly turned pink. 

"Don't worry, I'm feeling okay. I might have been too hard on Arthur, he was probably confused at how much everything has changed." Antonio's face lit up fondly. "Thanks, Lovi." 

Lovino opened his mouth to respond, stuttered a bit, and then turned away with a _hrrmph_. Half-waving, he stomped away into the night. 

 **(III)**  

Arthur felt like shit. Everything kept spinning around him, and there were voices - far off somewhere - that were both simultaneously too quiet to make out, but too loud for his incoming headache. 

He was vaguely aware that Lovino was swearing at him as they stumbled through the streets home together, and he remembered being deposited into another pair of arms ( _cinnamon and chocolate_ ). Then he remembered colourful blurs, a teasing laugh, and being gently laid down onto a soft surface. 

Now he lay there, on that soft surface, slowly sobering up and gradually coming to understand that he was at home, on the pull out sofa downstairs, with Antonio somewhere in the distance humming. 

It was a nostalgic and pleasant sensation. How many times had he fallen asleep on the couch like this, only to wake up in the morning to Antonio making them breakfast? Arthur's family was a bit dysfunctional, to say the least, and he remembered a silent home back before he'd moved in with Antonio. And Antonio was the only one who'd peek his head out of the kitchen in the mornings, beam at Arthur, and say - 

"Good morning, Arthur! Though I guess it's one am, which is still night. I wonder if it's technically morning once it goes past midnight, though?" There was a clatter, as...something...was set down on the coffee table beside Arthur. "You sure drank a lot. I made you tea." 

Arthur groaned low in his throat. 

"Aw, don't be like that. Tea'll make you feel better, you're dehydrated." More clattering. "Should I cool it off for you?" 

"Lovino," rasped out Arthur. "Where's Lovino?" 

"Lovi's gone home! It's late. We should get to sleep soon, too." Antonio's face finally swam into view, his features arranged into a sympathetic look. 

A sudden emotion took hold of Arthur. He knew he was drunk, he really did, but he was reaching out and grabbing two fistfuls of Antonio's shirt before he could stop himself.

It was shameful, really. After all the pride he held in his self-control and manners, it always seemed to unhappily melt away in Antonio’s presence. 

The surprised noise that escaped Antonio's lips motivated Arthur to struggle into a half sitting position, using his hold on the scruff of Antonio's shirt to steady himself. The blond was met with startled jade eyes ( _those fucking eyes_ ). 

"Why -” His voice caught in his throat when he started talking. "Why did you never write me back?" Arthur dropped his gaze, focusing on the carpet as his voice trembled. "I sent out so many letters - hundreds, I think. I called. I even tried to come back, once or twice, but I wasn't ever sure...sure if you still wanted to see me again." 

( _He knew he was drunk. So drunk._ )

Strengthened by the looming silence from Antonio, Arthur spurred on.  

"I'm sorry for raising my voice at you, I'm sorry for moving away, I'm sorry for coming back. I didn't know you didn't want our memories. They were important to me, so I..." Arthur stopped to catch his breath, feeling the tears pricking at his eyes, hot and angry. His voice quieted. "I don't need you to reciprocate anything from me. But you're my best friend."  

He wanted his pride back, and his prized manners and self-restraint. 

The silence seemed to go on forever, with Arthur silently shaking as tears fell onto the carpet below, half drunk and half devastated by this all-confirming silence, and Antonio kneeling eerily still. 

Then Arthur felt hands gently grasping both his wrists, and he remembered that he was still clutching the collar of Antonio's shirt in a death grip. Mumbling an apology, he let go, but the hands around his wrist didn't. 

"I'm sorry." Antonio whispered, mournfully. "I didn't mean...with the letters, the frames and photos, I didn't know what else to do." His eyes were wide, sincere. Then they darted down to the coffee table, where a cup of tea was cooling. "...your tea's going cold. I'll get you more." He made to stand up, his grip around Arthur's wrists loosening. 

"Enough of that!" Arthur was on his feet now, unsteady and angry. His blood felt too warm in his veins. There was a kind of tightness in his chest that he hated.

( _Drunk.)_

"You just keep, keep, keep avoiding me. We're adults, we don't need to play this game. _Talk_ to me." 

And when Antonio seemed to only turn away again, towards the kitchen, something in Arthur snapped. 

He marched up to Antonio and slammed a hand against the wall behind him, surprising the brunet into flinching backwards. Arthur could hear things in the kitchen tumbling to the floor as the force of the slam seemed to shake the entire brick house. His own angry voice reverberated in the cavity of his chest, asking how _dare_ he become violent - against Antonio, of all people. But he had been patient, these six years, and perhaps it was the alcohol in his system ( _it wasn't_ ), or perhaps it was the culmination of six years of hurt and betrayal, but Arthur felt so done with gently toeing around the topic and never getting a response.

" _Antonio_. Don't walk away." Arthur growled, bringing down his entire forearm firmly against the wall. It effectively trapped Antonio between Arthur's body, and the fireplace. They were practically chest to chest, eye to eye. 

Silence again. Arthur hated silence. 

About to demand out more answers, Arthur took a breath - but then stopped at the unnatural way in which Antonio's chest seemed to rise and fall.

Concern tinged the tips of his rage blue. "...Antonio?" He said softly. "Come on, look at me." 

And Antonio did. 

Jade eyes, usually so vibrant, appeared darker in this lighting. Dilated pupils. The way Antonio seemed to shrink away towards the wall as far as he could, away from Arthur. 

Antonio met Arthur's gaze with nothing but pure, unadulterated fear. 

"Arthur," Antonio's voice was barely a hoarse whisper, "I don't have..." He blinked, and the fear had suddenly disappeared. 

Had Arthur misinterpreted it? 

As concern continued to gnaw into Arthur's bones, Antonio shoved him backwards. The raw force of the action caught Arthur off-guard, and by the time he'd regained his balance, Antonio was slipping out of the living room. 

Arthur numbly listened to stumbling footsteps staggering up the stairwell, the sound of a door slamming upstairs, and then - deafening silence. 

**(IV)**

Morning came too soon.

Arthur glumly came to. He wished it was more like the movies, where the main character always got a few moments of groggy peace after waking up. Instead, Arthur found himself immediately flashing back to the misery of last night.

He remembered dragging himself upstairs to bed as well, and collapsing into unhappy sleep. He only woke up once, when he heard a door open and close roughly. He presumed it was probably Antonio, up making breakfast. Then he’d fallen back asleep, and it was approaching ten in the morning.

Arthur rolled over, determined to spend some time reflecting.

He remembered last night’s drunken mess in too much detail for his liking, and felt a snarl in the pit of his stomach at Antonio for being so damn avoidant. He didn’t remember clashing with Antonio like this, even through their rougher teenage years. Antonio was usually quick to explain himself, and quick to apologize.

Admittedly, Arthur wasn’t usually so quick to upset, nor so quick to use force. But he had a temper (always had), and he knew alcohol only exacerbated it.

What a mess.

He ought to apologize to Antonio. They could talk it out. Arthur wouldn’t lose his temper today, despite the raging hangover, and maybe he could finally have some closure.

It always seemed to be quiet in the house lately.

Arthur inched forward, leaning against the bannisters for support. Antonio was probably downstairs, sulking because the breakfast had gone cold while Arthur overslept. Or maybe Antonio had fallen asleep on the kitchen table, since it was much too quiet in the house and there was a muffling stillness that hadn’t been there the previous day.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Arthur peered towards the two sets of open arches that led to the kitchen, waiting for Antonio to notice his presence so he could sheepishly apologize. Sit down for breakfast together.

No Antonio popped out past the kitchen’s doorframe, and Arthur settled on the idea that maybe he _had_ fallen asleep on the kitchen table. The stillness was overwhelming.

“Antonio?” He called out, continuing his stride forward. “Are you asleep?” The kitchen came into view. White and light green tiles were still the same, as was the oak table they’d picked up at a garage sale. To his surprise, there was no breakfast carefully arranged on the table. The chairs were neatly tucked in, the counters scrubbed clean as usual, pots and pans hung up on the walls in their right spots.

“He cleaned up,” muttered Arthur as he remembered the crashing of metal from last night. Of course it was cleaned up, Antonio practically lived in the kitchen. A small smile tugged at the corners of Arthur’s lips, as he scanned the kitchen for any sign of Anto -

Arthur stopped when he caught a glimpse of _red_ on the white linoleum.

 _Red, red, red, red, moving sluggishly, seeping between the tiles_.

 **_Red_ ** _._

“What -” Arthur managed out, before he _spotted it_.

Chocolate brown, mixed in with the red, behind the far counter.

Everything fell away. Suddenly all Arthur could focus on was how the red seemed to contrast too sharply with the linoleum tiles, how messy and splotchy it looked compared to the impeccable tidiness in the rest of the kitchen.

 _Red, red, red, panic, panic, panic, panic, red, red_ –

The stillness threatened to engulf him.

“Antoni –” He couldn’t finish. Arthur stumbled forward, his feet too numb to register red seeping through his new socks and the way every footstep smeared more of that fucking _red_ against the flooring, and –

Antonio lay there, behind the far counter, surrounded in red. And dully looked up at Arthur, a triumphant smile moving his lips.

And Arthur stood there, suddenly drowning in the god be damned _stillness_ , as Antonio reached out a single shaking hand and his lips moved, more red dribbling from the corners, mouthing, before his eyes were unseeing, and his hand fell.

Everything went black.

**(V)**

_"...I won. I won, mi corazón...it can't hurt you anymore."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated splitting this into 2 chapters so many times, but kept it together so as to prevent the drag from continuing for 4 chapters.
> 
> I can finally reveal the prompt that spurred me to this story!
> 
> Prompt: (from otpprompts on Tumblr)  
> Imagine your OTP in a situation like the film The Butterfly Effect. Person A and Person B are childhood friends and Person A has had blackouts since they were young. Person A moves away and comes back years later only to trigger person B into committing suicide by bringing up a bad memory. Person A then discovers a way to go back to their blackouts and keeps altering their past to save Person B, jumping back and forth from the past to the altered future.


	4. The Little Brick House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When all logic has fallen through, whatever remains, however illogical, must be the truth. At least Arthur didn't have a hard time swallowing it.

Arthur came to. 

A kind of violent coming-to, like being pulled out of a cold tank of water abruptly.  

Shaking the last of the chill out of his bones, Arthur tipped his head backwards, and gulped in air. Fresh air. It felt like it had been ages since he took in fresh air. God, how good it tasted. He heaved in a few more breaths. 

Then his eyes grew accustomed to his surroundings, and he bolted upwards. 

“Antonio?” He scrambled to his feet, breaths coming in short gasps. There was a numbing sensation at the tips of his fingers. It was practically nauseating. “ANTONIO!” Frantically searched the floor around himself. Arthur was laying – standing, now – behind the far counter, where he’d found – 

A choking sob escaped, from somewhere deep inside his chest. The tiles were clean, not a trace of the _red_ that had crusted into them before. But Arthur _knew_. _Knew_ it wasn’t the same. 

He collapsed to his knees by the counter, resisting the urge to throw up. 

“Arthur?!” His name was being called, from the back door. The one that led out into the garden. A door was violently ripped open, and various things clattered to the floor. There were a few dull _thumps_. 

Then Arthur felt soothing hands rubbing against the small of his back, and a pair of bright – alive – jade eyes were before him, wide with concern. 

“What’s wrong? Do you feel sick? Does it hurt somewhere?” Antonio was asking a string of questions, his distress visibly mounting as there was no response from Arthur. But all Arthur could think of was how _warm_ Antonio was, and how he smelt like cinnamon and earthy undertone, and how _beautiful his damn eyes were_ , with that sparkle of life. 

“I’m fine.” Arthur croaked out, surprised by his own voice. “I’m fine. Just…just dizzy all of a sudden.” 

The concern furrowing the other man’s eyebrows downwards didn’t let up. “You were calling my name, it sounded…” He paused, seemingly at a loss. “It sounded really bad. Are you in any pain?” 

Something in Arthur’s knees gave out, and he slid all the way down, back against the side of the counter. A small voice at the back of his head whispered that he ought to grab Antonio right now, lock him up somewhere where nobody could touch him. Of course, impossible. Antonio would never stay locked up for long. "Antonio." Vibrant, healthy, alive. 

"You've been calling my name an awful lot today." Antonio chortled quietly. "Hello, Arthur." Looked forward expectantly. 

"I'm not hurt." Arthur sucked in a deep breath, realizing that Antonio was awfully close by and he smelt like leaves. "Just a little bit dizzy earlier, but I'm fine now." 

Antonio gave him a long look, squinting slightly. Then he heaved himself to his feet again, offering a hand to Arthur. "If you say so." There were smudges of dirt on his forearms, and Arthur noticed tan lines peeking out from under Antonio's rolled up sleeves. 

_Beautiful_ , the voice at the back of his head urged Arthur forward. _You ought to kiss him. Take him. Make him yours._  

_Before something happens to him again, and you lose him._  

Arthur stubbornly refused Antonio's outstretched hand, clambering to his feet with a slightly indignant huff. This only made Antonio laugh, and he teasingly elbowed Arthur in the ribs. 

Then, Arthur blinked. 

"What happened to your hair?" He blurted out before he could stop himself, eyes fixated on the bit of chocolate brown that gathered into a small ponytail. 

"Hm? It's the same as always?" Antonio blew out a cheek. A habit he'd had when he was thinking, in their younger years. "I'm using a red hair tie today, because I didn't have black?" 

Of course, it hadn't been the hair tie that caught Arthur's attention. Just the fact that Antonio had longer hair again at all. 

"Didn't you cut it off after Lars came at you with a lighter that one time?" The words felt strange in Arthur's mouth, like they shouldn't be voiced. But that was silly. The fight between Antonio and Lars had been more than eight years ago, and the two still interacted after it. 

Antonio tipped his head to the side, his smile faltering slightly as he raised a single eyebrow. 

"Who's Lars?" 

**( I )**

Arthur remembered first seeing Antonio through rusted iron gates, squatted down beside a small patch of earth with his chin in his hands. He remembered the frequent trips by foot every day, hoping to catch another glimpse of this smiling boy who always seemed to be tending his garden. 

_"How old are you?"_  

_"I'm not sure."_  

Antonio grew up to what some would call a bleeding heart. 

That was probably why people gathered to him, and his home, the way they did. It had been Arthur first, shyly drawn to the sunny smile and the smell of spicy stew that would waft from the house at times. They were barely in high school, when Antonio proudly brought home a rosy cheeked boy with hazel eyes and an insistently lively hair curl. 

_"This is Lovino! He's going to be_ _living here now_ _."_  

_"Who is this kid? Antonio, don't tell me you -"_  

_"He's Roma's grandson. He's going to be living with me."_  

Antonio rarely mentioned Roma, except vaguely here and there when people asked about his family. All Arthur knew was that this Roma was Antonio's benefactor of some sort. But nobody knew how to reach him, and he never showed up at that small brick house even once. 

Arthur remembered bringing up his disgruntlement over dishes. 

_"Why are you taking in some kid? Can't Roma keep him?"_  

_The scrubbing never ceased. "_ _Lovi_ _has a twin brother. Roma is busy taking care of him." A light hearted laugh. "Besides, don't you think_ _Lovi'll_ _like it here much better?"_  

_"That's not the problem. Can you take care of a kid? Why did you offer?"_  

_"...you know how Roma is."_  

_Arthur didn't. It frustrated the then 14 year old him._  

_"Roma doesn't even come see you. What good is it going to do you to take in his grandkid?"_  

_The scrubbing stopped. Then softly, "Don't you think_ _Lovi_ _will be happier here, than alone in another brick house somewhere?"_  

From there, suddenly the house grew livelier. Arthur remembered Antonio marching in a shy blond girl with bruises around her neck and her silent older brother who had constantly downcast eyes. 

_"You're family now. I won't let a single thing hurt you while you live with me!"_  

Lars and Antonio worked - hard. Lars said he wanted to send Bella to university. Antonio hummed contentedly. 

Then one day, Lars punched Antonio across the face and left without another word. Bella cried, and kept glancing backwards, but followed Lars through her tears. And when even Lovino found a place for himself with his twin brother, Antonio merely laughed and fondly reminded Lovino how proud he was of him. 

Arthur moved in after that, and when they were done setting up a room that had once had other occupants, it was the first time he saw Antonio cry. 

**( II** **)**  

“Arthur, are you coming in for dinner?” 

“I’m not hungry.” 

Antonio let out a short sigh, and retreated back into the house. Arthur sat in the bench stationed in their back garden, flicking an old metal lighter on and off. He felt dazed. Where was he? When was this? 

_“Who’s Lars?”_  

_“I – what do you mean, who’s Lars?_ _He’s Bella’s older brother.”_  

_“_ _Bella?_ _”_  

_“They used to live in this house with you!_ _With Lovino!”_  

_“_ _I didn’t know you knew Lovino?”_  

It didn’t make sense. According to Antonio, Lovino was the name of a boy that Antonio had only ever heard of in letters. He lived with an old friend named Roderich. There was no Lars, no Bella. 

_“You loved_ _those three like family, how could you just forget them?”_  

_A placid smile. “You’re the only family I have, Arthur.”_  

This lighter, too, had been something Antonio gave to Lars. But here it was, innocuously in Arthur’s palm, as if Lars had never existed to begin with. 

_Isn’t it good?_ Something stirred. _Isn’t it good, if_ _you’re Antonio’s only family? You wanted it at some point_ _. You wanted the disturbances gone._  

“Come on, Arthur. You’ve got to eat something.” Antonio lowered himself onto the bench beside Arthur, frowning. “...are the results of Ivan's trial still bothering you?" 

Arthur couldn't kick the strange haze - he couldn't describe it any other way - that seemed to overcome his senses at the name. _Ivan_. He knew an Ivan, didn't he? "Maybe." He said. The word felt slippery against his tongue. "They weren't...good results, were they?" 

Antonio's frown only deepened at the question, as he peered at Arthur with a mixture of befuddlement and sadness. "Innocent of all charges. You wanted to get him on manslaughter at the very least, didn't you?" 

"I don't know." The haze was clearing up in Arthur's mind, like a fog that was thinning to make way for a rainstorm. Ivan. The name was familiar, and something tar-like stirred at the back of Arthur's chest. _Hatred_. "I think I hate him." 

There was a beat of silence between the two men, punctuated only by the whisperings of a night-time breeze. It was cool against Arthur's aching head, and he relaxed into the bench. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw movement - Antonio shivering. He silently slid his jacket over at Antonio, who hummed in appreciation. 

"Hate is a strong word, Arthur." Antonio finally said. "Ivan isn't worth it." 

"I can't help how I honestly feel, now can I?" Arthur replied dryly. He felt a sudden urge to reach into his pocket and dig out a cigarette - but he'd quit, hadn't he? Almost seven years ago. 

His companion eyed him for a long moment again. Arthur noted vaguely that Antonio was gripping his hand in his own, larger one, with a grip that was firm but not firm enough to hurt. 

The next words hit him in the heart like a knife. 

"I don't think Alfred would have wanted it." 

_Alfred._  

_Alfred._  

**_ALFRED_**. 

Blue eyes, blond hair, a smile like clear summer skies, that annoying way he called every morning after team practice and woke Arthur up. 

His brother, his baby brother, how had Arthur **forgotten**? 

Murder. 

Ivan Braginski. 

The summer of 7 years ago. 

Ivan's trial. 

The verdict. 

7 years ago. 

Arthur had forgotten for **seven whole years**. 

"Antonio- bear with me - how old am I? What season is this, what happened today?" 

Antonio, as if instinctively knowing something was very wrong, tightened his grip on Arthur's hand. Suddenly, the night was too hot, Antonio's gaze too flat, their half-entwined hands served as shackles rather than comfort. The Spaniard enunciated slowly and carefully. 

"You're nineteen. It's almost the end of summer, we have to go back to university in three weeks. We just got the results of Ivan's trial this morning. They ruled him innocent to both murder and manslaughter, but they charged him with assault and battery, and he has a short prison sentence. You haven't eaten today, you barely slept last night, you don't look well." 

Arthur felt sick to his bones. _Nineteen years old_ , it was so ridiculous it was almost funny. But it explained Antonio's hair, the way Arthur's body begged for a cigarette, and maybe - it even explained how Antonio sat beside Arthur now, when it felt like just that morning, Arthur had walked downstairs to find him in a pool of his own blood. 

Arthur was back at the summer of 7 years ago. That horrible summer. 

**(III)**  

_Arthur remembered stumbling out of the emergency room - they'd kicked him out after someone realized he had followed them in. The hospital walls were whiter than they had any business being, and everything was scrubbed clean to perfection. Arthur sank into one of the chairs lining the walls, willing himself to breathe._  

_"Arthur!" Footsteps rounded the corner, squeaking against the waxed floors. The Brit gazed up at the sound of his name, his gaze unfocused. The figure dashing to him was a messy blur of red and white, until it came closer and Arthur finally registered the blur as -_  

_"...'tonio." Arthur looked away, at the flashing 'OPERATION IN PROGRESS' sign above the doors he'd just exited from. "...'tonio, it's Alfred."_  

_Arthur remembered arms wrapping tightly around him, practically squeezing the breath out of him, but he barely felt it - his eyes wouldn't leave those closed doors._  

_"There was a huge fight, right before I went to pick up Alfred." Arthur muttered into the fabric of Antonio's hoodie. "I think there were at least 10 high schoolers...then one kid just...slammed a metal pipe over Alfred's head. It was on purpose, it had to have been on purpose. How did he have a pipe?"_  

_He didn't remember what Antonio said after that. His eyes never left the sign._  

_By the time the men in white coats slowly came through the door, something monstrous had already built up inside of Arthur._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been re-evaluating how I see SpUK as a pairing, and also just various parts of how I understand their characters!
> 
> Thank you katsuriya for encouraging me with this fic, I had almost given up hope for it when suddenly motivation slapped me in the face out of nowhere.
> 
> And thank you to those of you who left me a comment/kudos!! I really appreciate it!
> 
> Hopefully things will move faster now that more information is revealed, but it's really hard to say with my rubbish writing style.


End file.
